


Never Again

by rattatatosk



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Gen, Parties, beer pong, college shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4042696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattatatosk/pseuds/rattatatosk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy. His exhausted brain managed to latch onto that thought, at least. This was all Foggy's fault. When-- if-- when Foggy found him, Matt was going to do-- something. Something to make Foggy feel as miserable as Matt currently felt. Probably. Matt wasn't sure it would be possible to actually replicate this level of misery. Maybe he could start with throwing up in Foggy's shoes. That would at least make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the kinkmeme: "While Matt is no stranger to alcohol, he's never taken it too far. For some reason, he does one time. It goes badly, and not in a funny way. Write Matt a reason to never do it twice. "

Matt was trying very, very hard to stay as still as possible.

He was propped up on--something. Probably a chair? It felt like a chair. He was propped up by a chair, one hand wrapped around the slats on the back for stability, the other trailing in the surprisingly soft carpet. There was-- well, there _had_ been a cushion on the chair, at some point, but that point might have been several generations ago. Now it was worn and threadbare, with foam poking out in several spots and the fabric that remained doing little to protect his head from the hard wood beneath.

At any other time, all those clashing textures would have irritated his senses like an oyster with a grain of sand. Right now, they barely registered. He was too busy Not Moving to worry about much else. When he moved, the vertigo came back, and with the vertigo, the nausea went from 'unbearable' to 'agony.'

Distantly, he heard giggling and the _thud thud thud_ of shuffling feet as someone-- no-- two someones-- fumbled their way down the hallway outside the room he was in. A wave of cologne washed through the room, searing his sinuses with its fake cinnamon spice. Matt flinched away from the smell, throwing his free hand up over his nose, and then moaned as the movement made his stomach lurch again.

The couple's footsteps moved closer, and there was another _,_ louder _thud_ as one of them was shoved against the door, followed by wet, slurping kisses. The door handle rattled, and the hinges creaked. _Don't come in don't come in don't come in_ , Matt thought desperately. Had he remembered to lock the door? He hoped so. But then-- if he had, how was Foggy supposed to find him?

Foggy. His exhausted brain managed to latch onto that thought, at least. This was all _Foggy's_ fault. When-- if-- _when_ Foggy found him, Matt was going to do-- something. Something to make Foggy feel as miserable as Matt currently felt. Probably. Matt wasn't sure it would be possible to actually replicate this level of misery. Maybe he could start with throwing up in Foggy's shoes. That would at least make him feel better.

The couple fumbled at the door again, but then moved on. Matt let himself relax again, slumping further towards the floor, and curled up on himself with a moan. Why. Why had he let himself get talked into this?

_Because Foggy's your best friend? And even you get bored with studying all the time?_ his brain suggested.

_Shut up, brain_ , Matt thought, sulkily. _This is your fault too_.

_Whatever. I'm not the one who ignored his hunger all day and then had like, six drinks on an empty stomach._

Matt moaned again, and tried to figure out where it had all gone so wrong.

==//==

The day had started out well enough. He'd been studying hard-- they had midterms coming up, and even though he'd been doing well in class he refused to get complacent, so he was reading ahead a few chapters and trying to get familiar with some of the more advanced material. He'd been so focused that he barely noticed Foggy come in until suddenly his roommate was there, shaking his shoulder. He jumped a little, startled, and pulled the headphones off his ears.

"Foggy," he said, "I didn't hear you. What's up?"

"What's up?" Foggy said, "Dude, I will _tell_ you what's up. I just scored an invite to the biggest party of the year." His heart was racing, and Matt could hear the grin in his words. "You know Jane Kelly? The former Senator's daughter? Well, it seems her parents are on vacation this week and so she is throwing a huge party.” Matt could hear him sorting through the pile of clothes on the end of his bed, apparently looking for just the right shirt. “C'mon, dude. It starts in less than an hour, man, we've gotta get ready."

"Wait- Foggy- we? What do you mean we've gotta get ready? I can't go to that."

"Uh, of course you're going, Matt. I specifically made sure to get you invited too." His heart skipped. "Okay, so maybe that hot girl from Advanced Psych actually asked _me_ to invite _you_ to the party, and I invited myself along, but whatever! The point is, we are invited, and we are _definitely_ going."

"Foggy, I have to study."

"Dude, you do nothing _but_ study! Have you even moved from that spot since I left after lunch?"

"I-- Yes! Of course!" Matt sputtered.  
  
"Besides going to the bathroom?" Foggy asked, skeptically.

"I-- Well--"

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Foggy punched Matt's shoulder playfully. "C'mon, Matt, _live_ a little. What's the point of being on campus if you never leave the dorm?"

Matt frowned. The idea of going to a party-- a crushing press of loud, drunk students, all pushing against him, smelling of beer and sweat and who knew what else-- did not sound like a good time. It sounded like the opposite, really, and usually he could persuade Foggy that he had to study, or that they should stay in, order pizza, and listen to a podcast-- or, if they had to go out of the dorm, they could at least go somewhere quiet. But he could tell from Foggy's stance that his roommate was determined about this one. He sighed.

"What's so important about going to _this_ party, anyway?" he asked, weakly.

"What's important about any party?" Foggy said. "Smokin' hot babes, obviously. Did I mention that chick you like from Statistics will be there? I'm pretty sure she's into you, man. And then there's those twins, Jasmine and- and- what's her name? Holly. And you _know_ I've been trying to talk to them for _weeks_.”

“Are you planning on dating both of them?”

“No! But hey, even if one of them says no, maybe the other will be interested?”  
  
“You _probably_ shouldn't ask them both at the same time, then.”

“Well, obviously. But the point is, everyone's going to be there! And Kelly's parents are loaded, man, which means this party is going to have some _quality_ booze, not just the cheap shit we usually drink. We can't miss it!” Foggy said.

Matt sighed. He'd clearly already lost this one. "All right, all right," he said. "I'll go."

"Sweet!" Foggy crowed, and moved off to his side of the room to get ready.

==//==

  
Things started to go downhill shortly after Foggy talked him into playing beer pong.

The party started off fine. It seemed that he and Foggy were actually early, or everyone else was fashionably late, so there weren't too many people around when they arrived. Foggy talked Jane into giving them a tour, which gave Matt a chance to learn the basic layout of the house while he was still sober, which was nice. There were few things worse than really needing the bathroom and having to navigate constantly-shifting crowds when he was already tipsy.

Jane started out by pointing out the large kitchen, where most of the drinks and some snacks were set up, then led them into a lounge full of plush leather couches and from there out onto a patio. Matt could smell the earthy scent of simmering charcoal on the grill and a wave of floral scents from the landscaping, as well as freshly cut grass. It was nice, and he wanted to stay outside a bit longer, but before he knew it Jane was leading him and Foggy into the rest of the house. She mentioned that the upstairs was all bedrooms, then led them to the basement, where most of the other guests seemed to be congregated. There were several large rooms that all seemed to be some kind of lounge or den; one had a large media center in the corner with a baseball game playing; another room where a few people were playing darts or pool; and a third that had a large table set up in the center, with a game of beer pong already going.

Foggy fetched him a drink and then enthusiastically dragged him to the table with the beer pong. There were maybe half a dozen people watching the current game, which seemed to be a battle of the sexes; two guys on one side of the table and two girls on the other. From Foggy's elevated heartrate and the banter the two girls shared, Matt gathered the two girls playing were the twins Foggy had been so interested in. He listened to a few rounds, as Jasmine and Holly handily beat their two opponents, sipping his drink and starting to enjoy the friendly insults as they were traded back and forth, when all of a sudden Foggy was grabbing at his cane and pressing a ping-pong ball into his hand.

“C'mon, Matt, we're up,” he said.

“You want me to play beer pong?” Matt asked skeptically. He _could_ , of course, but Foggy didn't know that.

“Dude, it's the _twins_ ,” Foggy whispered. “This could be the best chance I get all night to flirt with them. Besides, I've seen you bulls-eye trash into the garbage from, like, fifteen feet away. _How_ , I don't know, but you do it. You can totally bounce a ball into some cups from, like, five feet.”

Okay, maybe Foggy knew more than he'd thought. Matt made a mental note to be a little more careful about hiding his skills, and gave a weak smile as he shook his head. No reason to make anyone else here suspicious.

“That's really not the same thing-” he started to say, but Foggy cut him off.

“Besides, the point of this game is not actually to win, it's to get drunk. So it doesn't matter if you actually score, we still win, right?”

“ _Foggy_ -”

“Come on, Matt, just one game. The point of tonight is to live a little, remember?”

Matt sighed and downed the last of his drink before handing the empty cup to Foggy to dispose of. “Fine. One game. Just-- point me to the middle of the table?”

==//==

They did not win that game of beer pong, _or_ the rematch that Foggy declared immediately after. Matt was unsure whether Foggy succeeded at flirting with the two girls. They did, however, succeed _spectacularly_ at getting drunk. While Matt did manage to get a few points for himself, without looking too good at the game, and Foggy wasn't half bad, they found themselves drinking far more cups of beer than the two girls across from them, and after the fourth-- or was it the fifth?-- beer, Matt realized he'd gone past tipsy and was _definitely_ drunk. He was a bit surprised at first-- he'd had more to drink than this in the past-- but then his stomach growled and he realized he hadn't really eaten for most of the day, and that's probably why he was now having a hard time staying upright.

The world didn't spin around him, exactly. It was more like the ground was tilting beneath him; like he was the ball in one of those cheap plastic maze toys he used to find in his cereal box, or like he was walking through constantly shifting sand. Every time he steps, he wasn't quite sure where the ground would be, or if it would be sturdy enough to hold him. The rest of the world had greyed out around him; instead of moving blurs of fire, everything was shrouded in a thick, muted fog. Only the strongest sensations made it through, but he couldn't focus on any of them. Instead they jumped out at him all at once, and he stumbled, desperately searching for one solid point to navigate by and failing to find it.

Worse, he set his cane aside while they were playing, and now he wasn't sure where it was. The party had gotten a lot more crowded since they arrived, and a press of bodies filled the room with the smells of sweat and smoke and alcohol, and a roaring buzz of indistinct conversations. He reached out a hand, searching for Foggy's arm to steady him, and instead found himself tipping forward, stumbling against a bulky football-type and earning himself a bath of spilled beer down the back of his neck. Curses rang in his ear and he was shoved back, as the buzzing murmur of conversation grew louder around them.

“Woah, buddy! Hang in there,” Foggy said, and Matt felt him grab his arm. He clung to it, trying to orient himself again. Foggy mumbled an apology to whoever Matt had stumbled into, and gently steered Matt away. “Come on, man, let's go find some napkins or something, get you cleaned up.”

Foggy led him back upstairs, where the press of bodies wasn't quite so overwhelming, and sat him down on a couch. Matt thought he heard Foggy say something about fetching some water, or maybe some food, along with the promised napkins, but he couldn't quite make it out with so many other conversations overlapping around him. He found himself leaning back against the couch, trying to focus on the feel of the cool leather beneath his fingers and not on his sticky, beer-soaked shirt, or the heavy, muffled hurricane of sensations around him.

It scared him. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but it was true. He was confused and off-balance, in a way he hadn't been in a long time. He'd sometimes had trouble focusing before, and he was sometimes overwhelmed, despite all his training. But this- this was different. The alcohol added another layer of distance to it; a loss of control that left him feeling profoundly vulnerable.

He hoped Foggy came back soon.

==//==

Still, things didn't get _really_ terrible until after he drank the tequila.

He'd been waiting for Foggy what felt like a long time, the beer that soaked his shirt drying slowly against his skin. Matt was just about to get up and look for him, taking his chances with the crowds, when he felt the leather cushion dip as someone sat down next to him. It was still hard to focus, but he caught the scent of sandalwood and vanilla perfume, heard the soft rasp of a leather jacket over her shoulders and the heavy click of her heels as they tapped against the hardwood floors.

“Hey, handsome,” a woman's voice purred. “Want a drink?”

“Ah- not really?” he said. “I- I think I've probably had enough for tonight.”

“Oh, c'mon, hun,” she said, scooting in closer. Matt tensed at the sudden invasion ofhis personal space. “Don't tell me a man ashot as you can't hold his liquor.” She trailed a hand reverently down his arm, then rested it on his thigh and squeezed.

“That- that's not, um,” he stammered. His tongue didn't seem to be working quite right anymore. “I mean, I- I just. Think I've had enough?”

“Hun, it's only an hour into the party. You really going to give up now? The fun's only just getting started,” she purred and leaned in closer, practically draping herself over him. He could smell the alcohol on her breath.

“I- I think maybe _you've_ already had enough,” he said, trying to push her out of his lap. “R-really, I- I appreciate, the, um, the offer, but- but. No thanks.”

“Awww, c'mon,” she wheedled, and he could hear the pout in her voice. “It's my birthday. You don't want to disappoint a girl on her birthday, do you?”

“Sorry, I still don't-” but he was interrupted by a shout from behind him.

“Oooh, Rosa! Did you say it was your birthday?” It was a girl's voice, one that sounded vaguely familiar. Was she maybe in his Spanish classes? He didn't have time to think about it, however, as she was suddenly shouting over the surrounding din. _“HEY EVERYBODY! ROSA HERE IS HAVING A BIRTHDAY. YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!”_

“ _ **BIRTHDAY SHOTS!!”**_ the crowd screamed back at her, and Matt winced at the noise.

There was a lot of clatter and motion after that; he could hear bottles being opened and a _lot_ of glasses clinking, along with a bunch of excited shouting and chatter that all blurred into a single, roaring wave of sound. It drowned out everything else, and Matt found himself pressing back into the sofa as far as he could go in an instinctive attempt to get _away_ from the overwhelming clamor.

Eventually he heard the clinking glass noises coming closer, and a shot glass was pressed into his hand. There was another roar as the crowd shouted a disjointed “ _HAPPY BIRTHDAY!_ ”, drank, and cheered again. The noise seemed to drive a spike right through Matt's skull, and he found himself breathing faster. He needed to get out of here, right now.

Before he could get up, though, Rosa was back in his ear. “C'mon, handsome,” she said. “You don't want to be the only one who won't toast my birthday, do you?”

Matt sighed. If he didn't drink now, he'd be stuck holding a full shot glass, as there didn't seem to be a table anywhere nearby to set it down. At least if it was empty he could leave the glass on the couch, even if the thought made him cringe. He'd need to get rid of it somehow, anyway, if he wanted to get out of here. And if he drank it, maybe this Rosa would finally leave him alone. Then maybe he could find somewhere quiet and recover enough to find Foggy and go _home_.

Besides, as bad as he was already feeling, how much worse could one shot make things?

Matt drank.

==//==

He left the couch as soon as he could, intending to head for the kitchen-- surely that's where Foggy would have gone?-- or possibly the patio, where he could at least get some fresh air. But his plan was interrupted by the sudden nausea that found him halfway through the room.

A wave of goosebumps washed over him, followed swiftly by sickly fever-heat. His stomach rolled and it felt like someone had reached inside him and clenched their hand inside his chest. He knew very suddenly that he was going to throw up.

“Oh,” he mumble-moaned. “Oh, God.” He staggered away, bumping into people who shouted and pushed back at him. He didn't care. He searched his alcohol-fogged mind for the directions he got earlier in the evening. _Bathroom, bathroom_. Where was it? He couldn't remember. He tried to stretch his senses and at least find a wall to lean on, but it was no good. The whole world was just a blur of heat and noise and stench, impossible to separate into individual objects.

_No._ He clenched his teeth and pushed the nausea down. He could do this. He could do this. He'd dealt with worse than this before, when he was- when he was training. He could deal with this. _The mind controls the body._ He just needed to- to find the edge of the room. Something solid to ground him. He took a deep breath, doing his best to ignore the whirling masses around him, and _focused_.

_There._ The wall of the living room, maybe ten feet to his left.

He moved towards it, weakly pushing his way through the people on the outer edge of the crowd. The spinning seemed to be getting worse, because each step felt like there were vines around his feet, reaching out to trip him. His skin was hot but he couldn't seem to stop shaking. After what felt like ages, his fingers hit the wall and he was able to steady himself a little. He pressed his forehead against the wall and tried to breathe.

It wasn't enough. The ocean of noise was still there, too loud, too close. He needed to find someplace quiet, someplace without any people.

It took him a long time, too long, really, but he eventually remembered hearing about the bedrooms upstairs. They should be quiet, right? Quiet _er,_ anyway.

His head throbbed again, painfully, and he swallowed. Further planning was beyond him at this point. He kept one hand on the wall and staggered toward the stairs and the quiet that (hopefully) waited at the top of them.

==//==

He wasn't sure how much time passed after he stumbled into the empty bedroom and ended up draped over this chair. The endless noise of the party downstairs was thankfully muffled, but his head still ached and the nausea just wouldn't leave him. He thought for sure he would throw up every time he moved, but instead his stomach just churned endlessly.

At some point he zoned out, running one finger along the embroidered seam of the much-abused chair, over and over. The motion was soothing, and the rough texture distracted him a little from the awful, unrelenting ache in his stomach. He half considered pulling his phone out and listening to some kind of ambient noise, something that would help block out the distant drone of music and too-loud conversations that filtered up from the party below. But every time he thought about moving, the nausea got worse, and it just seemed like too much effort. He stayed where he was, and in the end he fell into a sort of doze, drifting in and out of awareness.

Eventually, he became aware of a distant sound, hovering at the edge of his hearing. It sounded like... thumping. It sounded a little like someone boxing. Was the TV on? Was that it? Did he- did he fall asleep watching the game again? He was sleepy and disoriented and he couldn't quite remember where or when he is. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

“Matt. _Matt._ Hey, Matt!”

He frowned, and uncurled a little. That voice. He knew that voice. Who--?

“ _Matt_. C'mon, buddy, wake up. You're really scaring me here.”

Oh, right. “Fog- Foggy--?” he murmured. He heard a sigh of relief like a gust of wind from somewhere high above him.

“Oh thank God,” Foggy said. “Matt, are you okay? I've been looking for you everywhere. I went back to that couch and you'd just disappeared. What happened?”

Matt moaned and slumped back to the floor. “Dunno,” he mumbled. “Feel sick.”

“Yeah, you look like shit,” Foggy agreed. “You had me worried. I came in and you were just, like, passed out on the floor. You looked half-dead.”

“Nnnnnngh. Dead might feel better,” Matt mumbled.

“Yeah, I've had nights like that,” Foggy agreed. “C'mon, let's get you up and get you home. You can sleep it off there.”

Matt groaned in protest as Foggy pulled him up and slung one of Matt's arms over his shoulder. “Don't throw up on me, okay?” Foggy said.

“No promises,” Matt muttered, but he was feeling a little better. Maybe whatever it was was starting to wear off.

“If you're going to throw up on me, just give me a warning so I can drop you.”

“You're not gonna drop me.”

“I totally will, dude.”

“You won't,” Matt said, and he still felt miserable, but it wasn't quite so bad, anymore. Not with Foggy here.

“Hey, Foggy?” he said.

“Yeah, Matt?”

“Never-- never convince me to play beer pong again, okay?”

“Okay, Matt. You got it. Never again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my roommate, who suggested the "birthday shots" scene, and whose agave allergy I borrowed to inflict on poor Matt.


End file.
